


The Kitchen Debate

by Pink_Kryptonite



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Hetalia, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Kryptonite/pseuds/Pink_Kryptonite
Summary: Nixon and Khrushchev have their famous "Kitchen Debate" which is quite the bore for America and Russia. As the two leaders move to the next exhibit, America keeps Russia back, wanting to talk.





	The Kitchen Debate

America and Russia stood next to their respective leaders, listening to the ‘debate’ going on. Neither nation would call this a debate though, merely two leaders trying to put the facade of tolerance whilst selling their nations economic and ideological systems. 

It was very tedious Russia thought, being fluent in Russian and English, because he had to wait for the interpreters to translate what either Khrushchev or Nixon had just said before the other could reply. Russia glanced over at America, the man was performing his typical public bravado, even standing silently his aura exuded arrogance. Russia sighed quietly before tuning back into Nixon and Khrushchev’s conversation. 

“You are a lawyer of Capitalism, I am a lawyer for Communism. Let’s kiss.”

Russia’s eyes widened at what Khrushchev had just said, it would seem his boss was playing up his humour for the American guest. As the English interpreter relayed what was said Russia glanced over to America again, this time the two men met eyes. America blew Russia a kiss in jest before his toothpaste-commercial smile plastered itself on his face.

Russia rolled his eyes. Oh how he’d love to knock a few teeth out of the American’s mouth, make that perfect smile not so perfect anymore. He knew America felt the same way about him, but their bosses both seemed content with peaceful co-existence at the moment but neither Russia or America were foolish enough to believe this would last. As long as America’s slimy imperialism poisoned the world Russia would not stand down. He suddenly realised he’d drifted off again and tried to bring his attention back to the Vice President and First Secretary.

“If that’s the way it is, I’m holding you to it. Give me your word…I want you,” Khrushchev gestured to Nixon. “The Vice President, to give me your word that my speech will also be taped in English. Will it be?”

“Certainly it will be. And by the same token, everything I say will be recorded and translated and will be carried all over the Soviet Union. That’s a fair bargain.”

Khrushchev and Nixon shook hands, both smiling with perhaps a smile too tense for a genuine one. The two men began talking once more but moved away from the Kitchen exhibit, the onslaught of journalists and politicians following too. Russia went to follow as well when a hand landed on his shoulder. 

Already knowing who it was he turned with a frown on his face. “Yes, America?”

America grinned but it was far to easy to tell it was anything but a genuine smile. “Ah come on, don’t be so formal товарищ. Call me Alfred.”

Russia cringed at America’s Russian pronunciation, just because the man was fluent in the language didn’t mean he was any good at it. “What do you want America?”

“Thought I’d say ‘hi’.” America’s strong hand found it’s new home on Russia’s shoulder, a seemingly friendly gesture but Russia knew it was simply a display of the man’s power. “It’s been a while since we’ve chatted.”

“We’ve talked plenty in meetings.” 

America shook his head tsking. “No, no. I don’t mean yelling at each other about bombs and spies. I mean just sitting down and chatting, like normal people.”

“We are not normal people America.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean we can’t just chat every once in a while. No politics.”

“What do you suppose we talk of instead?” Russia asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

America went to say something but paused, thinking over what he was about to say before his blue eyes shone slightly. “I miss our chats from the war.”

“Do you now?” Russia looked away, not wanting to look at that smug face.

America hummed to himself. “Remember when we had that cute little campfire going and you had that thing, that uh,” America frowned. “The guitar thing.”

“The Balalaika?” Russia offered.

“Ah, yeah that’s the one. You are quite an incredible musician Ivan.” America never broke eye contact with Russia and it was not something Russia was used to. There are very few people he’d ever met who didn’t have to tilt their head up slightly to meet eyes with him, but America was one of the lucky few who shared his eye level. It was those stupidly long legs that afforded him such a privilege. 

“Thank you America. Now,” Russia grabbed America’s hand and pulled it off his shoulder. “My boss will need me soon enough, yours too. Perhaps we can talk next time you visit Moscow.”

Russia turned on his heel and began walking to the next exhibit when America’s hand returned on his shoulder, this time there was noticeably more force put into it, taking Russia by surprise. Stupid America and his stupid strength.

“Your boss can wait surely,” America forced Russia to pivot and face him. “A First Secretary does not need his nation by his side all the time, in the same way my Vice President does not require my presence constantly.” 

“Alfred please—“ Russia started.

America raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so now you use my name?”

Russia tried to keep his emotions under control, the last thing the USSR needed was angry Russia getting into a fight with America. He could already imagine the headlines of the Western media and the dark stain it’d put on the Soviet Union. He collected his thoughts. “United states of America is also your name. I wasn’t aware it was unsuitable to call you as such.” 

America laughed emptily. “I just wanted us to feel more comfortable when talking. Calling you ‘Russian republic of the Soviet Union’ doesn’t make me feel like we’re friends, however, Ivan is a much friendly name to call you.”

“We are not friends America.”

“Can’t we be?” America shrugged, it was very obvious that America was not really after friendship. Perhaps the cheap thrill of poking the Russian bear, whatever he was after it was not friendship of any kind. He could see it in those blue eyes, they shone with determination.

“Being friends with you means siding with you,” Russia snapped. “I will not side with someone so brutally driven by profits, who lets his people starve on the streets because they do not have enough money for human rights. Your ideology and system is evil America, plain and simple. I will have no part in it.”

America rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, I thought we were trying not to talk about politics.”

“No, You were. I never agreed to avoid the topic.” 

America sighed, taking his hand off of Russia’s shoulder. “I guess we can’t avoid it can we?”

Russia’s face softened. “We are nations America, we are politics in it’s rawest form.”

“I just want us to go back to being allies.”

“But you always knew I’d be the next target after Germany. Once we defeated the beast of fascism you and England would deem me and my sisters beasts and come for us next.”

“Well that’s what I miss, being united by a common enemy.”

Ivan smiled slightly. “You’re quite the idealist Alfred.”

“You’re one to talk.” Alfred snorted. 

Ivan was about to inform Alfred that a true Marxist was a materialist and idealism was an illness that did not serve the revolutionary spirit of communism but decided to save Alfred the distinction. 

The two men stood in silence for a few seconds, although to both of them it felt more like minutes. It was Alfred who broke the silence when he put his hands in his trouser pockets, stepping away from Russia.

“I wish I could come to Moscow more often.”

“Perhaps you can ask Mr Eisenhower for another visit soon.”

Alfred shook his head. “No, no. I don’t want a visit like that. No Presidents, no Vice Presidents, no journalists or critics. I don’t want some publicity tour I just want,” Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose before he stared right into Ivan’s violet eyes. “I just want to see you, Ivan.”

Ivan felt his face heat up, knowing how pale his face was he knew he’d probably be bright red. “I—” he swallowed. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I really do miss our time together Ivan,” Alfred said sadly. “That night I was talking about, with the campfire and the Baleeknya—“

“Balalaika.”

“Yeah uh— I,” Alfred had lost his train of thought, Ivan thought it was quite cute watching the American’s brow furrow as he tried to recall where he was going with his sentence. “That was the second best night of my life.”

Ivan knew better than to pry further but he couldn’t help it. “What is your first?”

Alfred smiled, happy that Ivan has taken the bait. “Do you remember that time during the Civil war—Uh,” Alfred remembered he could be talking about any number of Civil wars that him and Ivan had been involved in. “My Civil war?”

“Jog my memory would you.” Ivan found it hard to remember back that far. 

“When we wandered away from our soldiers' campsite and sat by that river?”

“Uh,” Ivan’s eyes widened. “Yes, I do remember that.”

“We talked for hours,” Alfred said softly. “I remember thinking you were so mysterious and fascinating, the mythical Eastern Empire or something.” Ivan cursed himself for being flattered at that comment, he was not supposed to look fondly on his days as an Empire. Alfred continued. “But that wasn’t what made it so special. What made it so special is that I had my first kiss that night.”

Ivan’s mouth gaped slightly. Had he really been Alfred’s first kiss? And did Alfred really consider it that special? Ivan plucked his memories for his first kiss, most likely a Tsarevna of the Rurik dynasty. He didn’t hold it in that high of importance and yet Alfred considered the best night of his life the night he and Ivan shared a kiss. 

“Uh,” Ivan tried to say something but found he couldn’t think of a reply, thankfully he didn’t have to because Alfred leant forward and this time his lips met Ivan’s. Alfred connected their lips with the same confidence he performed in a meeting, he was so sure of himself and what he wanted, and in that moment he wanted Ivan. 

Ivan pushed any thoughts of panic of what would happen if either of their bosses found out about this and deepened the kiss. He ran his hand through Alfred’s hair, the familiar silky texture of the man’s blond locks was so comforting to Ivan. He remembers fondly the night he shared with Alfred during the war, they leant up against a now decimated German building, a small fire flickering beside them. He remembers Alfred laying in his lap as he played his favourite folk songs, he remembers leaning down and kissing Alfred only for the American to return the gesture and how soon their kisses escalated to heated passion, but the two of them laughed as they realised it was much too cold to take it any further than that. Ivan remembers Alfred dozing off in his arms, the American’s face looking so docile and gentle while he was asleep. 

He didn’t realise how much he missed having a warm body to hold.

Soon Alfred pulled away, snapping Ivan back to reality. The two men were slightly out of breath after the exchange, they both took a deep breath before staring into each other’s eyes once again.

“If either of our bosses finds out—“ Ivan started.

“They won’t.” Alfred waved his hand dismissively. Ivan always enjoyed how Alfred talked with his hands. 

They stood in silence once again but this time Ivan broke it. “If you do ever want to visit Moscow, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

“I’ll be sure to bring plenty of spies.” Alfred said jokingly.

“I feel you’ve brought more than enough into the Soviet Union.” Ivan rebuffed, however he really wasn’t joking. Western spies were a pest. 

Alfred ignored the jab. “Perhaps you could come to D.C one day.” 

“Perhaps.” Ivan pondered the idea. 

America smirked. “Maybe in the future when I’ve won this war and you’re a Capitalist.” The joking tone was gone, America was serious. Russia was taken aback slightly and was about to argue but America was too quick. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to my Vice President. See you later,” He brushed past Russia and briskly walked towards the exit of the exhibit, but not before turning around and sneering. “Ya commie bastard.”

Russia shook his head. He had just shared such a beautiful moment with Alfred but now he was back on planet Earth and had to deal with the United States of America. Not Alfred. 

“Over my dead body, Pig.” Russia mumbled to himself as he quickly left the exhibit.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to read the transcript for "The Kitchen Debate" here ya go: https://www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/1959-07-24.pdf
> 
> It's a wild ride to read lmao


End file.
